Trophy Bride
by Fire Of The Stars
Summary: You know what you are, Granger?" He laughs lightly. "You’re a trophy wife. Potter loves having the smartest witch in school on his arm. But you don't really mean anything to him. You don't mean anything to anyone."
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1

The chatter of the Gryffindor common room is almost deafening. But she keeps a smile pasted on her lovely face. She pretends that his arm around her shoulders isn't heavy, that it doesn't feel like it weighs a ton. That it doesn't make her feel strangely tense and rigid.

All that matters is that she loves him, and he loves her.

But he isn't looking at her. Not even periodically. His gaze is fixed on the pretty redhead across from him. And the pretty redhead's gaze is fixed on him.

She had promised herself at the very beginning that she wouldn't be jealous. It isn't like she isn't used to him being practically surrounded by girls. Their entire friendship, she has seen the way girls all over the school look at him. They worship the ground he walks on.

But that is the way it is. He is famous, has been since before he even knew it.

But she can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he talks and laughs with the young Ginny Weasley. Ginny is prettier than her, certainly. And she doesn't doubt that the younger girl is more fun than her book-hugging self.

And Harry is certainly paying more attention to Ginny than to her.

Sighing, she decides that, before she drives herself crazy watching the two of them, she will sneak off the to library for some late-night reading.

"Harry," she says, sliding off the arm of his chair." I'm going to the library."

He doesn't answer. She's not even sure if he heard her. But suddenly she doesn't care. 

--

The corridors are dark and empty. She wraps her arms around herself, against the chill. The chill that seems to have nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the gnawing in her stomach.

_Get a grip, Hermione. You have no proof that he has any interest in Ginny._

She sighs, a frustrated sound.

_No. No proof at all. Except that he stares at her every time she's in the same room. Except that they stay up late talking almost every night._

_Ugh. He says he loves me. Shouldn't that be good enough for me?_

"Well, well, well."

She jumps slightly. The voice shakes her from her thoughts. But within seconds she realizes that the voice isn't strange. No, much worse, it is annoyingly familiar.

She doesn't turn. She doesn't have to. Draco Malfoy is in front of her in moments. His cold grey eyes are glittering with malice. His arms are crossed over his chest in what is obviously a stance of superiority.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy."

"Tsk, tsk. You should be more polite when addressing your superiors."

"You're right. I will keep that in mind when I encounter someone who is, in fact, superior."

She moves to step past him, but he blocks her path. She rolls her eyes and crosses her own arms. "Get out of my way," she says, annoyance creeping into her voice.

"What's wrong, Mudblood? Having a bad night?"

She doesn't answer, but he sees pain flash through her eyes. His smirk becomes a predatory grin.

"What? Was Potter not paying attention to you?"

She clenches her teeth. He sees her tense up.

"I'll bet he was watching that Weasley brat, wasn't he?"

Her eyes are stinging. _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. Not in front of Malfoy._

He is closer to her now. His voice is soft and low, she feels his breath on her cheek. His body brushing hers. Lightly, so lightly.

"You know what you are, Granger?" He laughs lightly. "You're a trophy wife. Potter loves having the smartest witch in school on his arm. It makes for the best publicity since he put my father and his friends into Azkaban. But you don't really mean anything to him."

He looks at her through his eyelashes and she works hard to keep her gaze steady, fixed on the stones under her feet. 

"You don't mean anything to anyone."

He steps back and she raises her hand, ready to smack him. She would love nothing more than to see his expression, shocked as it was in her third year.

But he catches her wrist in his hand. His grip is like iron.

He looks at her with cold eyes, an arrogant smirk on his pale face.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

He lets her go, her arm dropping uselessly to her side, and walks away, leaving her alone once more.


	2. Chapter 2

The corridors are dark and empty. She wraps her arms around herself, against the chill. The chill that seems to have nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the gnawing in her stomach.

_Get a grip, Hermione. You have no proof that he has any interest in Ginny._

She sighs, a frustrated sound.

_No. No proof at all. Except that he stares at her every time she's in the same room. Except that they stay up late talking almost every night._

_Ugh. He says he loves me. Shouldn't that be good enough for me?_

"Well, well, well."

She jumps slightly. The voice shakes her from her thoughts. But within seconds she realizes that the voice isn't strange. No, much worse, it is annoyingly familiar.

She doesn't turn. She doesn't have to. Draco Malfoy is in front of her in moments. His cold grey eyes are glittering with malice. His arms are crossed over his chest in what is obviously a stance of superiority.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy."

"Tsk, tsk. You should be more polite when addressing your superiors."

"You're right. I will keep that in mind when I encounter someone who is, in fact, superior."

She moves to step past him, but he blocks her path. She rolls her eyes and crosses her own arms. "Get out of my way," she says, annoyance creeping into her voice.

"What's wrong, Mudblood? Having a bad night?"

She doesn't answer, but he sees pain flash through her eyes. His smirk becomes a predatory grin.

"What? Was Potter not paying attention to you?"

She clenches her teeth. He sees her tense up.

"I'll bet he was watching that Weasley brat, wasn't he?"

Her eyes are stinging. _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. Not in front of Malfoy._

He is closer to her now. His voice is soft and low, she feels his breath on her cheek. His body brushing hers. Lightly, so lightly.

"You know what you are, Granger?" He laughs lightly. "You're a trophy wife. Potter loves having the smartest witch in school on his arm. It makes for the best publicity since he put my father and his friends into Azkaban. But you don't really mean anything to him."

He looks at her through his eyelashes and she works hard to keep her gaze steady, fixed on the stones under her feet. 

"You don't mean anything to anyone."

He steps back and she raises her hand, ready to smack him. She would love nothing more than to see his expression, shocked as it was in her third year.

But he catches her wrist in his hand. His grip is like iron.

He looks at her with cold eyes, an arrogant smirk on his pale face.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

He lets her go, her arm dropping uselessly to her side, and walks away, leaving her alone once more.

"


	3. Chapter 3

She feels strange when she gets back to the common room. Sort of numb. Except her arm. Her arm is searing as if it has been caught on fire. And she thinks it has something to do with Draco.

The room is empty. She was hoping Harry might still be here. Sometimes he sleeps down here. Sometimes waiting for her to return from the library. Most of the time because of nightmares. He doesn't want to wake the other boys.

_I wonder if Ginny knows that about him._

She scolds herself for comparing herself to the redhead. _This isn't a competition. Because she isn't a threat._

She considers going to Harry's dorm to say goodnight, but decides against it. She feels too strange. She is sure he would be able to tell that something has happened.

--

The next morning at breakfast is awful. She tries to talk to Harry, but he and Ginny are engaged in a heated discussion of Seeking techniques. Since Ginny spent her fourth year subbing for Harry on the House team, she has something to go on.

_What a perfect opportunity to start a conversation._

She would talk to Ron, but he is busy receiving doe-eyed looks from his girlfriend. None other than Luna Lovegood. Hermione had always thought he had had a crush on _her_, and is still almost certain she was right. But if he had, it had dissipated when it became clear that her feelings were for Harry.

She had always loved Harry. From her first year, when she had helped him find the Sorceror's Stone. It had only gotten stronger through the years, and she hadn't fully realized it until their fifth year. When he had come to Number 12, Grimmauld Place undernourished, under-informed and angry. She had wanted to hug him more at that moment than at any other in their past.

So when he asked her out during the summer before their seventh year, she had been thrilled. He had told her such sweet things. And then, he had kissed her. She can still remember that first kiss. The way it tasted, the way it felt. How incredibly desperate and hungry it seemed.

And she recalls, with sadness, that it was the only one of its kind.

Yes, their kisses are nice. But they are so . . . Boring? Apathetic?

Dispassionate?

She sighs out loud, but no one notices.

But, of course, when the bell rings, and it is time to make their way to Transfiguration, Harry's hand slides easily into hers, and he matches her stride. As they walk, he places small kisses on her cheeks, and occasionally her neck.

And for the first time since their relationship began, it doesn't feel good.

--

The text is swimming in front of her eyes. She has been reading for hours. Trying desperately to take her mind off of Harry. Off of Draco. Off of everything.

And up until now, she has been succeeding.

But now, the parts of the page that do make sense to her are about spells for unfaithful men.

_That's ridiculous. Harry is_ not_ unfaithful. _

But, feeling disheartened, she closes the book heavily.

"Time to head back," she mutters to herself.

--

She tosses her cloak onto the floor beside her bed and begins to wriggle out of her school robes.

When she has her shoes and knee socks off, the urge to see Harry's face flashes through her, so strong it hurts.

Brushing her hair back, she walks out of her dorm and to the boy's dorms.

She knows by heart which room is his. She walks in without knocking, knowing well that everyone is probably asleep.

She crosses over to his bed and pulls back the scarlet curtains.

And presses a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

Because, next to Harry, her arms wrapped loosely around his waist and clad in ridiculously small nightclothes, is Ginny Weasley.


End file.
